Winter in New England burn motherfucker burn in hell by Johnny Hobo and The Freight Trains Lyrics
None of us could hope to deserve to exist, but who can?
I'll stay the worthless bum unless you got a better plan
Doing our best to drink ourselves to death, or at least to sleep
Trying to chain smoke the gaps between not enough to eat
Well you give me the scars that make me laugh and cry whenever i notice them
I want my first beer back, and i want my first acid trip again
But i'll always remember the good times in my liver and my spine, and i'll always remember you in the same places
Because i swear if that don't kill me, winter in New England will
At least until the snow melts, may i BURN MOTHERFUCKER BURN IN HELL
Nobody could hope to deserve to exist, and we gave up trying
There's always room for one more round if you're the one buying
Doing our best to drink ourselves to sleep, or at least a driver's seat
Trying to chain smoke the gaps between aspiration and apathy
Well i want you to always be just a drunken stumble away from me
The closest distance between two points is a straight line...of speed
But to me we're still able to meet because to me you're still on Elliot Street, and i've walked there twice as drunk as this before
Because i swear if that don't kill me, winter in New England will
At least until the snow melts, may i BURN MOTHERFUCKER BURN IN HELL
I'll stay the worthless bum unless you got a better plan
Doing our best to drink ourselves to death, or at least to sleep
Trying to chain smoke the gaps between not enough to eat
Well you give me the scars that make me laugh and cry whenever i notice them
I want my first beer back, and i want my first acid trip again
But i'll always remember the good times in my liver and my spine, and i'll always remember you in the same places
Because i swear if that don't kill me, winter in New England will
At least until the snow melts, may i BURN MOTHERFUCKER BURN IN HELL
Nobody could hope to deserve to exist, and we gave up trying
There's always room for one more round if you're the one buying
Doing our best to drink ourselves to sleep, or at least a driver's seat
Trying to chain smoke the gaps between aspiration and apathy
Well i want you to always be just a drunken stumble away from me
The closest distance between two points is a straight line...of speed
But to me we're still able to meet because to me you're still on Elliot Street, and i've walked there twice as drunk as this before
Because i swear if that don't kill me, winter in New England will
At least until the snow melts, may i BURN MOTHERFUCKER BURN IN HELL